


Persuasion

by Ariel_Tempest



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Bad Parenting, Childhood, Fluff, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Prequel, no nutritional value
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Tempest/pseuds/Ariel_Tempest
Summary: Sometimes the lessons we teach our children are not the ones we want to teach them.





	Persuasion

_My mother worshiped disease. If we ever wanted to get anything out of her, we had to start by pretending to be ill._  
\- Thomas Barrow, S1, EP4, SC46 (cut)

The sun made its way mercilessly through the windows, catching every dust mote and making it sparkle with the promise of a beautiful day just beyond the walls of the little flat above Stockport's finest clock shop. The air was filled with the sounds of cleaning, the sweep of the broom and the hushed sliding of a polishing cloth, and the low whispers of prisoners seeking to break free of their confinement. "Why does it always have to be me that's feeling poorly?" the younger of the two, a boy of eight who could easily have been younger, complained.

"Because I've already asked, that's why," his older sister hissed, her voice blending in with the swish of her broom. In contrast to her brother, she was ten and could easily have been older.

"Don't know what you did that for. You know she won't say yes unless you're dying. All you've done is make things harder."

The girl snorted, whether from derision or dust it was hard to say. "Come on, Tommy, you're better at it than I am anyway."

"That's because you cough too much," he informed her with the air of an offended professor.

"How is she supposed to know I feel poorly if I don't cough?"

"Why would you cough if your stomach hurts?" Thomas rolled his eyes, taking one last swipe at the mantle of the fireplace. It was not an elegant piece, but he'd polished it to the point it would look at home in a far more respectable house.

"I don't know." His sister stopped her sweeping and pouted at him. "Come on, Tommy, it's lovely outside. Don't you want to go to the park?"

"I don't see why," Thomas replied, glaring at the living room table that was next to be polished as if he had a vendetta against it. "I'd just be stuck playing with your friends."

"No you wouldn't, and you know it."

"Mum will make you promise to stick close to me, you know that. She always does."

"And do I ever listen, after I've promised?" she coaxed. "Come on. I want to see Phyllis and you want to go outside. All you need to do is, I don't know. Whatever you do when your stomach hurts."

"A stomach ache isn't going to get her to let us go to the park!" Thomas rolled his eyes heavenward, as if asking God why he'd been given such a daft sister.

"Well then think of something that will!"

"All right, all right!" Thomas finally capitulated, possibly because he genuinely wanted to go to the park, possibly because he didn't want to polish the table. "Give me a minute to think of something. Then I'll go down and talk to Mum. You keep sweeping."

"I will not! If you get to stop working, so do I."

"Then you be ill!" Throwing his polishing rag down on the table he was supposed to be polishing, Thomas crossed his arms and glared at her. "If we go down together, it will look funny. You have to wait for her to call you if it's going to work and if that's not good enough, then we might as well just keep at our chores."

There was a brief glaring match before his sister sighed and went back to her sweeping. "All right, but this had better work."

"Well if it doesn't, at least you'll have been sweeping while I was gone. I'll still have to do the whole table."

* * *

The kitchen was full of the sound of carrots being diced, the steady chop chop of the knife against the cutting board. Thomas hoped that meant shepherd's pie for dinner, rather than stew. The Barrows ate quite a lot of stew and he liked it when his mother broke up the monotony. He almost wanted to ask, but ultimately decided against it. Instead he leaned in the doorway, contriving to look as listless as possible. "Mum?" he asked, raising his voice just enough to be barely heard over the chopping.

Mrs. Barrow stopped chopping and turned to look at her son. "Yes, Tommy? Are your chores all done?"

"Just about," he replied, keeping his tone light and airy and his breathing shallow. "Just got the table left, but can I step outside for a minute? I'm feeling kind of dizzy."

"Oh dear, you aren't coming down ill, are you?" The dinner preparation was immediately abandoned and Mrs. Barrow walked across the room to lay a hand against his forehead. "Do I need to call the doctor?"

"No, no I don't think you need to do that," Thomas assured her with a wan smile. "I think I just need a bit of air is all."

His mother's pale eyes, much like his own, searched his face for signs of anything that should give her alarm. When they didn't find any, her expression softened. "Well, if your chores are almost done, I don't see the harm in a bit of a break."

"Thank you, Mum." With another smile, Thomas headed for the back door. He moved slowly and carefully, as if he was uncertain of his balance, and tried to figure out how to bring the subject around to the park. He'd been hoping he wouldn't have to make the suggestion on his own, but it was starting to look like he was out of luck. He had his hand on the door knob, not having reached a solution, when his mother stopped him.

"Tommy, wait a moment."

He stopped, turning obediently, his expression quizzical.

"Peggy?" his mother called up the stairs. "Peggy, will you come down here?"

Thomas held his breath. There was a clattering of eager footsteps on the stairs and his sister came down, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of her face. She appeared quickly enough that he figured she'd been waiting at the top of the stairs and he silently prayed she wouldn't spoil everything. "Yes, Mum?" she asked, a bit too innocently for Thomas's taste.

Fortunately, if there was anything off in her acting their mother didn't notice. "How is the sweeping coming along?"

"Nearly done," Peggy assured her. "Just the hard to reach places left."

"Good, that's good." Their mother smiled, then looked over at Thomas, "Tommy isn't feeling well. I was wondering if you'd like to take him to the park for a little bit."

Peggy brightened immediately, making her brother cringe. "I'd love to!"

Her mother gave her a hard look, "You are not to go off and play with your friends, young lady. You are to keep an eye on your brother, do you understand?"

"Of course, Mum," the girl agreed readily, pulling back her enthusiasm. "And we'll be back before supper."

"You'll be back in an hour," her mother corrected. "Your chores are not done."

"Yes, Mum."

"Good." Apparently satisfied that her children would behave, Mrs. Barrow nodded. "Now don't walk too quickly and if Tommy gets dizzy, you stop for a bit. And if he gets at all worse, you go straight to the doctor."

With a chorused "yes, Mum" the children fled into the sunlight with all of the composure they could muster. Once they were a good distance from the door, Peggy sighed. "Only an hour! That's barely time at all."

"And whose fault is that?" Thomas snorted. He shook off his lethargic act and picked up his pace. "If she hadn't already known your friends would be there, I could have worked two, but no. You had to ask first." A thought occurred to him and he gave her a sideways glare, "And your friends had better not go spilling to Dad that we were playing with them. If we get caught, I'm telling him you made me."

"You little snitch!"

"I'm not getting in trouble because you're too simple to do things on your own."

"Oh really, it's not as if you didn't want to come." Peggy stuck her nose in the air and lengthened her stride, leaving her brother trailing behind her.

Thomas started to speed up, then remembered he was supposed to be ill. It wouldn't do to have the neighbors report to his parents that he'd been speeding down the pavement. With a quiet harumph, he glared at his sister's back and muttered, "Some day I'm going to find a girl who doesn't need me to do all the thinking for her."


End file.
